The Lucky Ones(39)

“Your tattoos are much nicer to look at than a giant wooden speculum with a leech applicator.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Deacon said.

“I’m going to be thinking about the giant wooden speculum on my deathbed.”

“Um...how are you planning to die, sis?”

“Up here,” she said, “puking to death.”

“Poor Allison,” he said. “I warned you.”

“I’m fine. Horrified but fine.”

“There’s more he’s got locked away.”

“I don’t need to see it.”

“Not even his collection of Civil War–era amputation saws?” Deacon asked. “Some of them still have dried Confederate blood on them. He’s even got Daisy’s old ECT machine. It’s pretty cool-looking...”

“I’m good, but thanks, anyway.”

Deacon laughed and she smiled at him.

“Good to see you again, Deac,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her and nodded.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he said.

“I had my reasons.”

“Roland gave me the rundown. I’m not going to lie—I have no idea what happened the day you fell or who did it. But I do know this—I had nothing to do with it and neither did Roland or Thora.”

“You’re sure?”

“You don’t forget the day your sister almost dies,” Deacon said. “I remember that day the way people remember where they were when Kennedy was shot. Roland was at work. And Thora and I were outside together when we heard Dad screaming for help. If she knew anything she would have told me. She tells me everything.”

“Everything?”

He nodded again. “We work together, you know.”

“What do you do?”

“We have a shop in Clark Beach. I’m a glass artist and Thor runs the business.”

“A glass artist? Are you serious?”

“Totally. The studio’s called The Glass Dragon, our home away from home. You can come see it, watch me work, if you want.”

“I’d love that. Wait...” Allison remembered something. “There’s a glass dragon hanging from the ceiling of my room. Did you make that?”

“I did.”

“It’s beautiful. I thought it was an antique.”

“All me.”

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“I have a great-aunt and -uncle in Shanghai—they’re my mother’s relatives,” Deacon said. “They both work at the big glass museum there. After I graduated high school, I needed to get away but college wasn’t for me. I went there for a few years and they taught me glass-sculpting. Came home a couple years ago, and Dad helped me set up the shop.”

“Very cool,” Allison said, impressed. “Your dad must be really proud of you.”

“He is,” Deacon said. “He’s proud of all of us.”

“Even Roland? He said your dad hates that he joined the monastery.”

“He does hate it, although he knows Roland was happy there. He’s proud Roland turned out so well despite the monastery. I swear, when Dad first got sick, it crossed my mind that he was faking how serious it was to make Roland come home. He wasn’t. Wish he was, but...” He shrugged again.

“Why did your dad hate Roland being in the monastery so much?”

“He’s a humanist. All religions are cults to him. And Catholic monks? Oh, my God, you would have thought Ro joined the Taliban. Science is Dad’s religion. He thinks religion is bad for humanity. It makes people think some big guy in the sky is going to solve all their problems. Dad took us to the monastery because they had good summer concerts. That’s it. None of us ever dreamed Roland would join.”

“Do you have any idea why he did it? Seems so drastic,” Allison said.

Deacon puffed up his cheeks with air and then blew it out hard.

“He’ll probably tell you he was called, whatever that means,” Deacon said. “Thor and I think it’s because of Rachel. Dad, too, although he wouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Rachel?”

“She was Ro’s sister,” Deacon said. “Biological sister.”

Allison was stunned. “What? I had no idea he had a biological sister.”

“Not surprised. He never talks about her. Nobody talks about her.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody,” Deacon said, nodding. “Seriously, I only found out about her by accident. When I returned from China and moved back in, I came up here and started digging in boxes, looking for my stuff. Ended up in one of Roland’s boxes. Found a photo of a little girl. I thought she was you at first till I got a better look.”

“Me?”

“Straight brown hair, brown eyes, gap teeth.”

“Sounds like me.”

“I turned the picture over and it said, Roland, age eight, Rachel, age five. Freaked me out. I took it to Dad. He said Rachel and Roland were the first two kids he ever fostered.”

“That wasn’t in the article, either,” Allison said.

“That article’s a puff piece,” Deacon said. “They were trying to recruit more people into being foster parents. Talking about a dead kid doesn’t really sell people on the program.”